


Terminal

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim discovers what Blair already knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terminal

**Author's Note:**

> Especially for G.

## Terminal

by Lemon Drop

* * *

Terminal  
by Lemon Drop 

Jim stood quietly, buffeted by the crowds around him. He was, in his own opinion, ridiculously excited. Fortunately, it had been raining when he'd arrived at the airport, so he held his raincoat over his arms, hiding his hands beneath it. He didn't want anyone to see them trembling. 

He could hear and smell Sandburg, who was still making his way off the plane and had customs to get through. Jim forced himself to stand still, to wait, to bide his time. Sandburg would get here when he got here, and not a moment sooner, no matter what antics Jim might engage in. Not that he would, of course. He'd just stand. That's what he did. 

His heart thumped in his chest, beating almost painfully quickly. Tachycardia, and breathlessness, and the trembling. Maybe he was coming down with something. 

No. No, he knew better. It was excitement at seeing Blair again. Blair. He laughed to himself, self-conscious in the crowd. He'd missed him so much. The loft was empty; Jim was empty, without Blair. 

Jim had spent the past six weeks contemplating his life and what he'd done with it thus far. On paper, he looked good. A hero. Cop of the year. The highest closure rate in the Pacific Northwest. He had friends he played poker with, basketball, an occasional softball game. He said hello to folks at the gym, spotted them, gossiped about who looked good, who was missing. They knew him at several restaurants. He had a full life. 

But really, he knew, he didn't. He was so lonely. He'd married Carolyn with a kind of desperate relief that here was someone who could stand to be with him, who would help fill that big bed, make a little noise in his too-quiet loft. It was with terrible disappointment that he realized what he'd felt for her, and what she'd felt for him, hadn't been enough to create a marriage. A family. And so he was alone again. 

But he wasn't, really. Maybe. That's why he was so nervous. During the past weeks, he'd been forced to come to terms with these feelings. At first he'd been furious when he'd realized what was happening to him. Alone in the loft, he'd gotten drunk one night about two weeks after Blair had left. By one in the morning, he'd started to cry and couldn't stop. That had scared him. He'd gone into the bathroom for toilet paper to blow his nose with and ended up staring at his red swollen face in the mirror. 

I am so fucking lonely, he'd thought, and his eyes had overflowed with tears, his chest jerking as he gasped for breath. I miss him so fucking much. His chin and lips had trembled as he tried to control the sick fear filling his stomach and throat. He'd stopped being angry and started being afraid. 

And he remained afraid the rest of the time away from Blair. The fear would roll over him, like a wave crashing down, flipping him off his surfboard. At times he couldn't catch his breath. One day he'd had to leave a meeting abruptly and hide in the men's room, shaking and gasping. 

When he'd emerged from the stall, he'd once again stared into his face in the mirror. That day he'd decided. It was either Blair or nothing. He'd felt oddly calm at that moment, grateful to be calm again, but the calm hadn't lasted very long. 

When he'd finally straggled home that night, exhausted and confused, he'd gone straight into Blair's room and lay down on his bed, snorkeling into the covers, burrowing in as deeply as he could. And he'd spent the rest of the nights sleeping there, surrounded by a faint scent of Blair. He'd worn Blair's tee shirts and socks and his odd fishing hat. He'd sat on the little bed reading and listening to Blair's CDs. 

Simon had noticed something was wrong, and correctly attributed it to Blair's absence. But he'd assumed it was some sentinel thing, and had stuck close to Jim, trying to help him keep from zoning. He'd assigned Joel to partner with Jim, refusing to let him go alone anymore. And he'd kept Jim at his desk far more than Jim liked. 

Joel seemed to understand a bit more. He talked about Blair frequently, with a careful affection that genuinely touched Jim. Joel liked Blair, and missed him, too, although certainly not with the depth and pain that Jim missed him. He was good company in Blair's absence, too; funny and kind and a good cop. 

But now the time was finally up, and Jim stood waiting for his friend. He wasn't sure what he'd discover in the next few minutes. Blair had gone to Australia with Megan, and part of Jim expected him to return married, ready to return to Australia with her and be an anthropologist there, far from the press of Cascade. 

Jim didn't smell Megan, though. Of course, she could have remained in Australia with her family, waiting for Blair. Or maybe it wasn't Megan; maybe Blair had met someone else. Or had decided he missed traveling too much, and would never unpack his backpack again, just use the loft as a place to stop in when he was in the States. Or maybe he'd spent the time away from Jim reevaluating their relationship and come to a different conclusion. 

Because, Jim knew, Jim had not been a good friend to Blair. Jim was deeply ashamed of this fact. If he were the demonstrative type, he would fall to his knees before Blair to beg his forgiveness. He would kiss his shoes, he would hold his hand and weep. But Jim didn't do things like that; nice Catholic boys were taught to be tough and suck it up. Good training for the military and the police. Never complain, never explain had been his motto for too many years. 

But Jim had determined he had to say something. As penance, which a good Catholic boy certainly could understand. As punishment, which all soldiers grasp. He had a little speech memorized. He'd actually written it out, editing it for days, utterly humiliated but the humiliation was punishment, too, and so he suffered through it, picturing himself stammering awkwardly before his friend, trying not to complain or explain but to express the depth of his sorrow and regret. 

Blair was getting closer. Jim could hear him joking with the customs officials. Jim was shaking even harder now; he could see the folds of his raincoat vibrate softly. He did some deep breathing exercises that Blair had taught him; he'd been doing them several times a day for the past few weeks, and could fall into a relaxed, almost meditative state within a few minutes. He'd forced his long legs into a half-lotus each morning and evening, sitting on the hard floor next to Blair's bed. 

"Hey, Ellison!" Jim was pulled into the moment by a hearty slap on the back. "What're you doing here?" 

"Waiting for a friend." Oh, shit, it was Johnson from the district attorney's office; he could talk the hind leg off a horse, if he didn't kill it with boredom first. 

"I'm off to Reno for a week. Some conference, but hell, can't go to Reno without seeing a few shows, spending some money, now, can you?" 

"No, no, I suppose not," Jim said uncertainly, listening to Blair's approach. 

"Well, gotta catch my flight. Gotta catch those babes!" 

"Yeah, see ya," Jim mumbled, completely focused on his friend's nearing heartbeat, so longed for, so desired. Johnson might have already been in Reno for all Jim knew. He stood at parade rest, staring into the thickening crowd; customs must've released a herd all at once, because here they came, pulling suitcases on rollers, festooned with duffel bags and backpacks and fannypacks and diaper bags, pushing strollers and wheelchairs, towing children and old people and girlfriends. They shoved into him, elbows flying, running over his feet with tiny wheels, but he stood and waited. 

And then there he was. Hair significantly shorter; shit, he'd gotten it cut somewhere and not mentioned it in his email or postcards. He wore his old leather backpack slung across one shoulder and carried a dark purple nylon bag with awkward square bulges. From his left ear hung a loop of gold chain linked with feathers and beads. He smelled of soap and sweat. 

And then he saw Jim. He stopped and Jim's heart lightened because Blair's face lit up like a Christmas tree, like a menorah, like a sunrise after a terrible night alone. Jim felt his throat knot up and the air leave his lungs. This had happened to him all too often in the past weeks; he knew it meant he was close to tears. He sniffed loudly and smiled, rather tremulously, he thought, angry at himself for not being able to hold it together more. He took a step toward Blair and found his arms full of his friend. His very best friend. 

They held each other, there in the airport. Jim's muscles clenched with the tension of his imminent tears; he put his head onto his friend's shoulder and breathed in his scent. So strange not to feel the tendrils of hair tickling him when he did that. 

Blair was a strong guy, a tough guy, and he was holding on pretty tightly himself. Jim clung to him as to a life preserver, grateful, fearful. He took deep breaths, to clear his head as well as to bring Blair into better relief. Finally, when Blair had stopped trembling, Jim gently pulled back, just enough to look at his face. To Jim's dismay, he looked distressed. Jim put his hand on Blair's face, just touching it. "What is it?" he whispered, terrified of the answer. 

Blair wiped his nose and smiled tentatively. "Just glad to see you," he said hoarsely, and pulled the backpack over his shoulder. He bent to pick up the duffel bag, but Jim seized it. They turned toward the exits and Jim slung an arm across Blair's shoulders. "Jesus, I missed you." 

Jim couldn't speak. For one thing, he didn't know what to say. But a more immediate problem was that his throat seemed to have completely closed up. He couldn't even swallow without ducking his head. The trembling started again. He stared straight ahead, convinced if he so much as glanced at Blair, he'd start to cry. But he recognized that he must say something. Finally, he husked out, "Me, too." Blair seemed to understand the significance of this statement; he cuddled closer to Jim, patting the small of Jim's back comfortingly. 

It took a long time to wind their way to the truck; the short-term parking lot was far from the international terminal, and had been almost full. At last, Jim slung the duffel bag into the bed of the pick up, unlocked the passenger door, and hesitantly helped Blair in. For a moment, he left his hand on Blair's elbow, after he'd settled into the seat. The heat of Blair's body soaked into Jim's hand as comfort, as home, as safety. Then he let go and climbed in the truck himself, started it, and headed toward the toll booth. 

Blair said, "How are you?" 

"Okay." 

"Um. You don't look real okay." 

Jim shrugged. "Little tired. How're you?" 

"Okay." After a short pause, Blair added, "I'm tired, too. I, uh, stayed away too long." 

Once again, Jim found he couldn't speak. He struggled for a few seconds before saying, "Yeah. Too long." He swallowed again; Blair pulled a bottle of water from his pack and handed it to Jim, who took a long, grateful drink. "Thanks. Listen. How's Connor? Where is she?" 

"In Sydney, with her family. I stayed with them a couple days when I got back." 

"Got back?" 

"Yeah, from Darwin and Perth. I was visiting some friends there, and a faculty member from Cascade who's on sabbatical studying the kooris." 

"Kooris?" 

"Aborigines." 

"So you weren't with Megan the whole time?" 

"No, man. You knew that; she went back to be with her family while her grandmother is dying. I went on to see my friends." 

Jim nodded. It was true that he'd known that, but it was a lot different now that he _knew_ that. No Connor. This could be good. "Did you meet anybody over there?" 

"Oh, yeah, a ton of folks. Learned a lot, too. If I were still an anthropologist, I could get a couple papers out of it, easy." 

But you're not, thought Jim, because I'm such a selfish bastard, a prick who got you killed, who ruined your life and career. His heart jerked arhythmically in his chest. 

They drove in silence for a long time. Jim stared grimly out the windshield; it had started raining again. There was no ceiling; he could tell this would be a bad storm. 

Finally, Blair said, "Jim, man. What is it?" 

Well, that's a good question, little buddy, Jim thought as he passed a BMW from Texas. Dishonestly, disingenuously, he asked, "What? What do you mean?" 

"I mean, what's up? You're being weird." 

Great. Home less than an hour and Blair was finding fault with his partner. Jim tried to remember the speech he'd prepared, but all he could think was: I'm sorry, I love you, don't leave me, I'm sorry. 

He shook his head and shrugged. 

"Goddammit!" To Jim's immense surprised, Blair reached across the cab and turned off the ignition. Jim cried out in astonishment and wrestled the truck to the side of the road, horns blaring around them. 

"What the hell are you doing, Sandburg?" he shouted. Blair looked mulishly at him, arms folded protectively across his chest. 

"No, what the hell are _you_ doing, Ellison. I saw your face at the airport. I feel the same way. Just talk to me, man." He sounded plaintive by the end of his speech. 

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He took several deep breaths, cleansing breaths Blair called them. When he opened his eyes, he said, "Let's get home. I promise to talk to you when we're home." 

Blair studied him for a moment more and then nodded. 

I'm going to lose him, Jim thought sadly as he pulled the truck out into traffic. 

At home, Jim paced while Blair tossed his things into his bedroom. It was too early for a beer; he filled the kettle with water, but didn't put it on the heat, and started sorting through Sandburg's collection of teas. Peppermint. Very soothing, he'd discovered in Blair's absence. When he turned from the kitchen counter, Blair was watching him, arms folded. Jim felt himself flush under Blair's scrutiny. His heart sped up. Jesus. 

"Uh, let's sit down." He gestured toward the couch, feeling foolish. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, studying each other. Blair didn't speak. "Blair." He stopped, closed his eyes, and tried to remember his speech. He'd practiced it dozens of times, sitting right here, imagining Blair right there. He could do this. 

"I love you," he blurted out. Oops. That was the end of the speech; he'd gotten a bit confused. But Blair didn't move, didn't speak. He just nodded slightly, in a keep-going kind of gesture. Jim scratched his forehead and rewound. 

"We, um, we've known each other four years now, Chief. In that time, I've learned what a, a really good person you are. Someone I can, uh, respect. Admire, even." Jim looked at his shoes. "I would never have had the courage you did, at that press conference. Never. I just." He stopped again to swallow. Maybe he should've waited until they'd had tea. 

Sandburg touched his knee lightly and Jim looked up, then continued. "Yeah. I. You mean the world to me," Jim could feel his face blush and his throat felt parched. "I know I haven't been as good a friend to you as you've been to me. I'm, uh, really sorry about that. Really sorry. I'd give my right hand if I could take everything back that's happened to you because of me. The things I did." He shook his head. He couldn't talk for a little while. 

"Okay." 

Jim looked up in some surprise. "Okay, what?" 

"It's okay. We're okay. I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago." 

"No, shit, Blair, let me finish. There's more." 

"Yeah, I know. You love me. You wanna be with me. You, uh," and he smiled beatifically at Jim, who felt warmed by that smile, "you love me to death." 

Jim blushed even more; his head felt on fire. "Yeah," he whispered, picking at a loose thread on the seat cushion next to him. "I really do. I." He stopped once again. He had to say this next part. He looked directly into Blair's eyes. "I want you to stay with me, Chief. I want to, uh, I want to be a couple." 

"A couple of what?" Blair said, but even in his confused state, Jim could tell he was teasing. "A couple of fools?" Jim smiled gratefully. He hesitantly reached out to Blair's hand, where it lay on the couch next to his thigh, and lightly stroked it with his index finger. Blair grabbed his finger and they sat like that for a while, sort of holding hands in an awkward I-don't-know-what-to-do way. 

"Yeah," Jim finally admitted. "I really love you." 

"Cool," Blair pronounced, and scooted closer to him on the couch. "Because while I was away, I had a lot of time to think. I realized that I'm crazy about you. I want you in my life more than I've ever want anyone else in it." Jim smiled at him. 

"Good." The two men sat there for several minutes, thinking over what they'd said, Blair gently squeezing Jim's captured finger. Then Blair scooted a little closer to Jim, and pulled Jim's hand onto Blair's thigh. "I really missed you," Jim said softly, and felt Blair leaning against him. What was the speech? Oh, yeah. He took a deep breath, but Blair stopped him by putting a hand over his mouth. 

The two men stared at each other. Blair curled his hand around Jim's face, stroking his cheek. His hand was warm and a little moist, and smelled of peanuts. Blair slid his hand down to Jim's chest and gently pushed, pressing him back into the couch, while he sat up straighter and leaned forward. Jim dropped his eyes but Blair tapped his cheek and he looked back up. Blair was smiling. 

"Here's how it's gonna go," Blair finally said, his breath warm against Jim's face. Jim felt himself blushing; he was radiating heat and embarrassment and desire. He swallowed and nodded encouragingly. "You're crazy about me. You love me to death. You want me to stay with you forever, to be with you. To be a partner in every sense of the term." Jim nodded again. 

"All right. I will. I feel the same way, I want the same things. But no more pushing me away. No more kicking me out. No more saying rude things to me. Do you understand me, Jim? This is it. I won't be abused." 

Jim blushed even more; his ears were buzzing and he felt light-headed. He couldn't speak or Blair would hear the grief and shame in his voice. But Blair needed an answer; he looked a little crossly at Jim and said, "Well?" 

"I promise," Jim said, further embarrassed by his voice thick. "Please don't leave me again." Humiliated, he tried to look away, but Blair wouldn't let him, his strong hand keeping Jim's face still. To Jim's shame, a tear escaped. "Oh," he gasped. 

Blair said, "You need to be punished." 

Jim shuddered. "Oh, god, Blair." His voice was thready, trembling. Blair nodded, and without warning slapped Jim across his face, a sharp stinging slap. Tears flew out of his eyes, his nose began to run. He put his arms around Blair and hugged him tightly, rocking back and forth in his misery. 

"I promise, Blair, I promise." 

Blair rubbed his back firmly, tucking Jim against his body in an almost paternal manner. "All right. All right." They sat together for many minutes, until Jim's breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed. Blair pulled back and looked up at Jim, his face still stern. "I'm sorry," Jim said again, his voice clearer and stronger. 

"I know you are. I forgive you. And now we're gonna be together for the rest of our lives, okay?" 

Jim smiled shyly. "Yeah." 

"Not like you and Carolyn," Blair warned, "or me and Sam, or anyone. This is it, Jim. I won't share you, and I won't tolerate your behavior if it threatens our relationship. It would break my heart to leave you, but I will if that's what it takes." 

Jim cleared his throat. He hadn't been spoken to this way since he was a child; he wasn't sure how much he liked it. Although that was probably the point. Blair knew him well enough to know he responded to simple stimuli: punishment and reward. Well, he'd been punished. Maybe he'd be rewarded. 

He looked into Blair's eyes. "I promise you, Blair. Everything is different. I will cherish you, I will," he hesitated, searching for the right word. "I will _nurture_ you. I'll support you in whatever you decide to do. Except leave me," he added. 

Blair patted his cheek, where he'd slapped Jim. "All right, then," he said, and smiled. "That's my Jim." 

The ridiculous praise filled Jim with pleasure, and he blushed again, but for a different reason. He felt -- possessed. He wanted this, he needed this feeling. Somehow Blair had discovered what even Jim hadn't known about his secret needs, his darkest desires. "Thank you," he whispered shyly. 

"Okay." Blair pulled Jim toward him. "Come here," he said roughly, and Jim followed as Blair lay back on the couch. Jim spread his legs so one knee was crammed into the back of the couch and the other nearly falling off the edge; between them lay Blair's sturdy hips. "Come _here_ ," Blair said again, more insistently, and Jim draped his body over Blair's. He could feel Blair's erection pressing into his own. "I want you," Blair said, his voice hoarse and deep. He pulled Jim's head down and kissed him. 

Straight to the point, Jim thought as he felt his mouth opened and explored, as he tasted Blair, as he widened his mouth to accept even more of Blair. He felt Blair's hands knead his back and ass, pulling Jim firmly to him. Without conscious volition, Jim began to rock against Blair. He was panting and sweating. 

Blair smacked his ass, hard; that pushed him further into a haze of desire. He heard himself moan, and he scooped Blair up, sliding his hands under Blair's hips and pulling him up, thrusting against him frantically. Blair tossed his head back and cried out with each thrust, and his cries filled Jim with greater urgency. He bit Blair's shoulder, right through his tee shirt, and pulled at Blair's ass, sliding his fingers into the crease, pushing the seam of his jeans into him. He wanted to pull Blair right into him, right through him; he wanted to _be_ Blair, to feel his pleasure. 

His cock burned where it rubbed against his clothing and pressed against Blair's firm body. Jim focused all his attention on that sensation: the friction, the sliding pressure, the ache that transmuted into pleasure; he wanted, he wanted, he wanted . . . 

And then he was coming, and crying, gasping into Blair's chest as his body spasmed. Blair put his arms around him and hugged, murmuring soothing words in his ear, "There, there, Jim. It's okay. I'm right here, I won't leave you." 

"Blair, Blair," Jim chanted, humiliated and sated. He didn't even know if Blair had come; what a thoughtless lover he was, Blair would never want him now. He cried harder; the past six weeks of misery forced out into tears and snot onto Blair's tee shirt, the past four years of their relationship revealed to him anew as false and wrong because he had refused to admit what Blair meant to him. 

Finally, finally, he forced himself to stop. Gasping, he lay on top of Blair, his entire body weight pressed onto him. Fearful that this was the last time, he couldn't bring himself to move away even a millimeter. He wanted that closeness; he needed the contact. 

Blair patted his back. "Sit up, just for minute," he said, and Jim obeyed, thinking: This is how it will be from now on. He wiped his nose and sat back on the couch, but Blair stood up and took his hand, saying, "Come on. You can't stop now." And he pulled Jim into his bedroom, the bedroom Jim had made his own in Blair's absence. He pushed Jim down to sit on the bed, kissed him lightly, and said, "I think you need to finish this, Jim." 

Blair unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them and his briefs down to his knees. His cock, red and a little chafed, stood away from his body, pointing up at Jim's face. Jim blushed yet again and shyly reached out to touch it. Blair moaned at the contact, so Jim used both hands, pulling on Blair's scrotum, rolling the balls in his hand, while stroking his penis rhythmically, firmly, looking for a rhythm that Blair would fall into. 

"Yesss," Blair whispered, and Jim slipped his left hand between Blair's thighs, cupping one leg and pulling him forward. He leaned over and licked at Blair's cock; it tasted of sweat and something else. He slid his mouth down over it as deeply as he could, until tears came to his eyes, and began working at bringing Blair off. Now all Jim's senses were focused on Blair: his heart rate, breathing, sweat, arousal. He could do this really well, Jim realized; being a sentinel meant he was able to anticipate his partner's needs and pleasures. 

Jim sucked with enthusiasm, attuning himself to Blair's sounds and movements. He liked it when Jim pinched at the skin of his scrotum, he jerked when Jim's finger stroked his anus, he gasped when Jim began sucking at the underside of his penis. He put his hands on Jim's shoulders; they were trembling. Jim slid his legs between Blair's and braced him, thrust his finger up Blair's ass, and sucked as deeply as he could. 

Blair came with a shout. His body was drenched in sweat, he was trembling, goosebumps lifting his skin. Jim pulled him down into his lap and kissed him, letting Blair taste himself in Jim's mouth. "Do me," Jim whispered desperately. "Please, oh Blair. I want you so much." 

Blair's cock jumped at those words, and Blair pressed Jim back until he was lying on the bed. "Come on, come on," he said impatiently, and lifted Jim's legs, pushing at Jim until he twisted around so he lay lengthwise in the bed. He unzipped Jim's trousers and pulled at them. Jim tried to help, but his hands were gently pushed away. Finally, Jim was naked, but he pointed at Blair, whose jeans were still wadded up at his ankles. Blair kicked off his shoes and jeans, shoving them away. "Roll over," Blair ordered, and Jim turned onto his stomach. 

He was terrified, he admitted to himself. He didn't know what Blair would do. He felt Blair's hands slide across his body: up his legs, across his ass, over his back and shoulders, then back down. Jim discovered he was pushing his ass back into Blair's hands, trying to seduce them into staying there. Blair smacked him lightly again, and Jim learned something else about himself that he hadn't known before Blair. Keeping his blushing face pressed into the bedspread, he pushed up until he was on his knees. Blair's fingers slid between his thighs, cradling his balls, then following the seam of his body. Jim moaned in fear and pleasure. He wanted so much, so much. 

"Lie back down, Jim," Blair said, and once again, Jim obeyed. He was too old for this; Blair would kill him with pleasure. Then Blair began slipping his finger into Jim's asshole and Jim stopped thinking entirely. 

Blair kissed his shoulder. "We can't do this just yet," he whispered as he lay down half on top of Jim. "This takes time. But we will. We'll get some toys and we'll get some books and we'll figure this out." 

Jim groaned in frustrated disappointment, and Blair popped his ass again. "That's enough, Jim. We're going to do this right. It takes time. I know a little bit about it. We'll get to this soon enough." 

Jim peeked at Blair from under his arm. Blair looked serious, but not angry, not upset. "I love you," he tried out, and Blair smiled. 

"I know. This is _so_ _cool_ ," he said, and flopped onto his back, twisting his head so he could look at Jim. "I love you so much. I've loved you forever. I didn't think you'd ever figure out that you loved me." 

"That's why you went away." 

Blair nodded. "Partly. I needed to get away by myself. I needed to figure out who you were to me." 

"Who am I?" 

Blair smiled again. "You're my best bud. You're my lover. You're my _partner_." Jim raised onto his elbows and leaned over to kiss Blair lightly. Blair caught his head, though, and pulled him back for more kisses. "I never get enough kisses," he murmured, and Jim promised himself to remember that, too. Blair's in charge, and Blair needs kisses. 

As they kissed, lying tangled together in Blair's bed, Jim thought: This is my new life. I thought I'd died when he left, and maybe I did. I've been reborn into this new life. 

"What are you thinking?" Blair demanded. 

"How much I love you." 

Blair patted his cheek, a gesture Jim recognized as one of his own. "You're mine." 

He nodded. "Yup. I'm yours." 

* * *

End  
February 25-26, 2000

 


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